


The First Requiem Ball

by shellfishDimes



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunken Shenanigans, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Pre-Canon, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2209914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellfishDimes/pseuds/shellfishDimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This ball was supposed to commemorate the first decade of peace after almost a century of fighting. Eachan Meritorious had grandly called it the Requiem Ball to indicate that, yes, it was a celebration of Mevolent's defeat, but also a way of honouring those who had fallen to keep the world safe from the Faceless Ones and the likes of Serpine and Lord Vile. Meritorious, Grand Mage of the newly-rebuilt Irish Sanctuary, had made an appropriately thoughtful and respectful speech, the two minute silence had been observed, and then the dancing and the drinking had begun. After all, they were alive; they had survived a decade in what wasn't exactly peace, but it was a truce at least. And that was certainly something to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Requiem Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my friend [Danae](https://twitter.com/darquesses/) who asked for Dexter and Saracen hooking up for the first time in ages and sneaky hallway fucking. I did my best. By the way, if you want music for the first Requiem Ball, here's [the accompanying fanmix](http://8tracks.com/shellfishdimes/the-first-requiem-ball).
> 
> Happy TDOTL release date, everyone!

There was a lot of sheep around Corrival Deuce's mansion. A whole lot of sheep. They seemed to have migrated there sometime before lambing season, and then bred like... well, like sheep, really, and now the grounds were positively teeming with them. It was a good thing, because it meant mutton and it meant lamb and wool, but it also meant that the fuckers would creep up to the house at night, drawn by the light coming from the tall windows, and just _stare_ at you. 

Three of them were staring at Saracen Rue right now. He jabbed a finger in their direction until it touched the glass. 

"I'm bigger than you," he hissed.

"I see you've finally found a conversation partner on your level."

Saracen wobbled slightly as he turned, but managed not to spill his drink. Dexter Vex was half-leaning on a statute of a nude woman holding an amphora. His tuxedo was unbuttoned, his bowtie loosened, and there was nothing left in his martini glass save an olive on a cocktail stick. 

"I see _you've_ finally found a lady powerless to your charms," Saracen said. 

Dexter casually glanced up at the statue. "Oh, her? Sure, we're planning our wedding right now," he said. 

"Well, don't let me interrupt," Saracen said. He reached for Dexter's glass and took the cocktail stick from it. His teeth closing around the olive, he slid it off and into his mouth. Smirking at Dexter, he dropped the stick back into the glass and walked away to rejoin the revelry, chewing with smug pleasure. 

This ball was supposed to commemorate the first decade of peace after almost a century of fighting. Eachan Meritorious had grandly called it the Requiem Ball to indicate that, yes, it was a celebration of Mevolent's defeat, but also a way of honouring those who had fallen to keep the world safe from the Faceless Ones and the likes of Serpine and Lord Vile. Meritorious, Grand Mage of the newly-rebuilt Irish Sanctuary, had made an appropriately thoughtful and respectful speech, the two minute silence had been observed, and then the dancing and the drinking had begun. After all, they were alive; they had survived a decade in what wasn't exactly peace, but it was a truce at least. And that was certainly something to celebrate.

Corrival Deuce's mansion had been an inspired choice for the Ball, Saracen thought. It had served as a safe house during the war, and it was one of the proposed locations for the new Sanctuary, but Deuce had fought tooth and nail against it, demanding a peaceful retirement. It was eventually agreed that the Sanctuary would be in Dublin, and Deuce offered to open the doors of his mansion to the magical community once every ten years for the Requiem Ball. 

Tonight, everything shone. There was marble and gold leaf, long corridors lined with oils by old masters, mortal and sorcerer alike. Saracen had duly admired all of them at the beginning of the ball, when he was much more sober. At this point of the night, however, tunnel vision was starting to set in and he needed a sit down more than he needed to admire a Tintoretto. 

He managed to squeeze his way through the dancers doing a particularly enthusiastic interpretation of Chopin's _Grande valse brillante_ and onto the other side of the room, where he sat heavily in one of the chairs just vacated by those who had gone to try their hand (and feet) at the old one-two-three.

Saracen sipped at his drink until the last of it was gone, watching the dancers. Eachan Meritorious was dancing with Morwenna Crow. Her cheeks were flushed with drink and the heat of the room, and he was looking at her with such boyish adoration that it made Saracen grin. 

This was nothing, of course, compared to how the rest of those gathered were looking at China Sorrows. She cut a striking figure in a strapless dress of red crepe, her hair gathered in a bun that exposed her perfectly sloped shoulders and slender neck. Saracen watched Quintin Strom stare at her, open-mouthed. Strom was so transfixed by China that he didn't look where he was putting his feet, and he stood right on the train of his wife's dress, tearing a huge part of it off. One hand holding her ripped dress and the other around Strom's wrist, his wife dragged him off the dance floor, hissing angrily into Strom's ear all the while. 

His eyes wandering back to China, Saracen wondered who the lucky fucker dancing with her was. They glided across the dance floor effortlessly, moving in perfect synchrony with each other and the other dancers around them. China's dance partner spun her around and leaned forward, dipping her back, and as he did, Saracen recognised Dexter Vex. He straightened China up and they turned, his back to Saracen now. He saw China lean closer to Dexter and whisper something to him. Dexter's shoulders twitched upwards the way they did when he was surprised into laughter. Saracen wished his power would help him out here and let him know what it was that China had told Dexter, but all it supplied was that one of his friends was approaching with a drink in hand. Typically useless. 

About three seconds later, Skulduggery Pleasant sat in the empty chair next to Saracen, a champagne flute in his right hand. "Thank God," Saracen said, taking the glass from him. "I'm starving." 

"I was minding that for Ghastly, actually," Skulduggery said.

"Well then, you should be glad I relieved you of the responsibility." Saracen knocked back the champagne, the bubbles tickling the back of his throat. 

"There's a waiter with a tray full of fresh drinks right over there," Skulduggery said, pointing out the waiter in question with a wave of his hand. 

Saracen considered this briefly. "Nah," he said. "Too much effort." 

"Peacetime has made you lazy, Rue," Skulduggery said, amusement in his voice.

"Great, isn't it? I wish we had peace more often."

"You're having fun, then?" Skulduggery asked.

"It's grand." Saracen grinned. "I haven't seen this much good food and drink in one place since before the war. Deuce really went all out tonight." He tipped his glass back, trying to get at the final drops of champagne. He considered the empty glass for a moment. "It must be terrible for you, not being able to drink," he reflected. 

Skulduggery shrugged. "It's not as awful as getting tortured to death by Nefarian Serpine," he said, "but I'll grant you, it's up there."

"Seriously?"

Skulduggery tilted his head. "Not at all."

The orchestra finished the waltz, and the dancers thanked them with applause. And then, the saxophone player stood up and broke into the opening notes of _In the Mood._ There was a mad, excited rush for the dance floor as even the biggest wallflowers decided to be jitterbugs, at least for the duration of this song.

Saracen spotted a mage he'd talked to earlier, Róisín Valenta, a pretty Adept who came to the Ball as part of the Welsh delegation. She was scanning the dance floor for a partner, and he meant to gallantly offer himself for the service. There was something about her that reminded him of Jean Harlow, and Saracen liked them blonde. He also liked them black, brunette and ginger, along with all sorts of colours in between, but that was neither here nor there, really. 

Saracen got to his feet, but Skulduggery remained seated. "You're sitting this one out?" he asked Skulduggery. 

"Unfortunately, I'm not very good at the swing," Skulduggery admitted. "I know you wouldn't say so judging by my usual cat-like grace, but I have two left feet on the dance floor. Dexter has been saying he would teach me for ages now, but we've yet to get round to it."

"If you're not dancing by the next Ball, I think we should consider revoking Dexter's Dead Men membership," Saracen said. 

"I agree. This simply can't go on," Skulduggery said. 

"He should really throw you a bone."

Skulduggery sighed. "Everyone's a comedian these days."

"I'm sorry, does that not tickle your funny bone?" Saracen asked. "Maybe I should work on—"

"If you were going to say that you should work on being more humerus, you can walk away right now."

Saracen put his hands up in a defensive gesture, smiling. "I was just—"

"Right now, Saracen."

"Suit yourself," Saracen said. He left Skulduggery to sitting and brooding, presumably about how he had very little sense of humour for a walking skeleton, and joined Róisín on the dance floor. 

She smiled widely when she saw him and took the hand he held out to her, and they danced. Saracen hadn't danced the swing since his time in America, but much like riding a bike or unclasping a bra one-handed, you never really forgot how to do it. The waltz and the foxtrot were far too stiff and formal for him – swing was loose, fast-paced and fun. The steps were pretty easy to learn, and it allowed for improvisation and spinning your partner until they were breathless with laughter, which was a look that suited everyone. 

Saracen spun Róisín around, letting go of her waist but holding on to her hand, and she did a little pirouette. When it was time for her to face him again and for him to put his hand around her waist, she turned all the way away and with a giggle, let go of his hand and spun off into the crowd of other dancers. As she spun away, Dexter Vex shimmied forward. Saracen took his hand almost by instinct and Dexter swung forward, their toes almost touching, and then back again, throwing his free hand in the air. Saracen laughed, and when Dexter came forward again he put an arm around his waist and they swayed together to the music.

"Smooth transition," Dexter said.

"Thanks," Saracen said. "Ready for the big finish?" 

"Sure you can handle it?" Dexter asked as they stretched out their arms and stepped back from each other. Instead of answering, Saracen pulled him back in. He raised his arm up and let Dexter twirl, until the song ended and he fell against Saracen in an imitation of a swoon as everyone around them stopped dancing to applaud and whoop the orchestra. 

"Well done, Twinkletoes," Dexter said, using Saracen's hand to pull himself to his feet.

"Learned it in Nantes," Saracen said. "Remember Nantes? The chorus girls?"

Dexter looked wistful. "Do I ever! All they had to their names were four ostrich feather fans and two pairs of high heels."

"They only had the one fan by the end of the night," Saracen said, grinning. The orchestra started on a slower song and he made his way between the dancers and off the dance floor, Dexter on his heels. "I'm pretty sure we broke two of them, but what happened to the last one?"

"I wanted to take it as a memento, but I left it in the hallway of the place we were staying. Larrikin didn't have his glasses on and he thought it was a wraith. Burned it to a pile of ashes," said Dexter morosely. 

Dexter hadn't taken Larrikin's death well. It didn't take a special Adept power to know that he blamed himself for it. In the last few months of the war, Dexter had slept only slightly more than Skulduggery, who didn't sleep at all. Larrikin's dying screams weren't something Saracen could ever forget, and he doubted Dexter could ever forgive Eachan Meritorious for agreeing to a truce with Serpine and not throwing the man in the deepest, darkest cell instead. Dexter had nightmares about Larrikin's death even during the war. When he and Saracen had shared a tent he'd woken up screaming more than once. He would forget where he was, sometimes, and they would have to hold him down and talk to him until he realised they were his friends, and not Mevolent's followers in disguise. Dexter remembered very few of those episodes the next morning, for which Saracen was grateful. He didn't want his friend feeling any guiltier than he already did.

As for himself, Saracen was not sure how successfully he would deal with the death of yet another one of his friends. Even though the war was long over, he still had that fear that one day something would happen, that Mevolent's old friends or some equally insane cult would get cocky and he would lose even more people he cared about.

Saracen rubbed at his face. He definitely needed another drink. Both he and Dexter did. He grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed one to Dexter, who thanked him with a smile. He sought out Skulduggery and noticed that the dead man was no longer sitting alone.

Ghastly Bespoke and Anton Shudder were on either side of him, both drinking whiskey. Erskine Ravel was standing by Ghastly's chair, leaning on the back with one hand and thoughtfully smoking a pipe with the other. He was doing his best to emulate Errol Flynn lately, right down to the pencil moustache, and judging by the number of turned heads and lingering, wistful looks he got, it was working. 

Anton was looking uncharacteristically sullen, even for someone like him, so Saracen walked over and clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. "What's this, then?" he asked. "Why the long faces?"

"We were just discussing something," Anton said, at the same time that Ghastly said, "Anton is advocating dissent again."

"Again?" Dexter said, amused. "Anton, my good friend, it's a party! Do you really think now is a good time to be political?"

"If you don't think this ball is a political move, Dexter, you haven't been paying attention," said Anton. Ghastly grunted and sipped his whiskey, and Dexter laughed.

"He's right," Erskine said, surprising Saracen. "All you need to do is have a better look at the guests to see that. Nearly every Sanctuary in the world has sent their representatives. Our Grand Mage is very conscious of the kind of message he wants to send."

"Meritorious is trying to show the international community how well Ireland is coping after the war. He's only invited the least controversial and the most heroic of those who participated in the fight against Mevolent," said Anton.

"China Sorrows and Mr. Bliss are the exceptions," Skulduggery said. "I'm sure Eachan isn't thrilled to have former followers of the Faceless Ones here, but it's an excellent diplomatic move. It shows that the Irish Council of Elders is reasonable and forgiving towards those who choose to reform."

"Diplomacy!" Anton snorted contemptuously. "Deacon Maybury is the only one of his brothers who hasn't been invited. He worked on the re-identification programme during the war, and Meritorious doesn't want to be seen as someone who condones brainwashing. No matter how useful it proved to be," he said. "Cameron Light is here because he's Elder Tome's friend," he gestured with his glass towards the two mages engaged in conversation, "and because there needs to be someone who will safely transport the important dignitaries. Not because Teleporters are especially popular. One of the most capable members of the Necromancer Order is on the Elder Council," he said, nodding over to Morwenna Crow daintily eating a cocktail onion, "and yet, not a single other Necromancer is in attendance. Likewise, for all the benevolent posturing and perceived acceptance the Council have displayed towards the Roarhaven mages, I can't see any here tonight."

"Good riddance," said Ghastly.

"Even so," said Anton. "Meritorious forgets that kind words and smiles didn't win the war."

"But they will help keep the peace," Ghastly argued.

"Peace?" Shudder echoed. Resting his elbows on his knees, he looked at Ghastly over Skulduggery. "Yes, Mevolent may be dead. But only one of his generals is where he belongs, rotting away in prison. And you're calling it peace?" He shook his head. "It's a tentative truce at best. You're the first person I've spoken to who has called it _peace_ and meant it."

"Maybe you haven't spoken to the right people," said Saracen good-naturedly.

"Maybe _you_ haven't," Anton countered. "The Elders have lost sight of what's important. They place Ireland's reputation in the international magical community above the safety and well-being of her citizens. The duty of the Sanctuaries was to protect sorcerers, to offer refuge to them. That was all. Now they're instating rules and codes, and shutting out more people than they're protecting. It's become a bureaucratic organisation, and it's getting too powerful for it."

Dexter took a thoughtful sip of his champagne. "You're right about one thing," he said. "Serpine shouldn't be allowed to just walk free after everything he's done."

"Anton, Dexter," Erskine said. "None of this is our decision. Arguing about it won't change that. We've all been at war for so long that we've forgotten the way things should be run in peacetime."

"Are you saying we should sit on our hands while the Sanctuary keeps making mistakes?" Anton asked.

Erskine shook his head gently. "I'm saying you should trust Eachan Meritorious. He's a good man and a good leader."

"The Sanctuary shouldn't be the only option sorcerers have," Anton responded. "There needs to be a neutral organisation. Somewhere those who can't pass as mortal can stay when they need to. Somewhere they'll be protected without judgement."

"It's always good to have more than one option open," said Erskine, nodding.

"Everyone needs a home," said Ghastly, thoughtfully swirling his whiskey in his glass. 

"We're all friends again, wonderful," Dexter said, replacing his empty champagne glass on a passing waiter's tray and taking a fresh martini from it. "I think that calls for a toast!" Everyone raised their glasses.

Erskine picked up a martini from the waiter before he disappeared into the crowd, and took his pipe from his mouth. "I've got one," he said. "Here's to absent friends." He raised his glass.

"And here's twice to absent enemies," finished Ghastly.

They clinked their glasses together. They drank as one, while Skulduggery just politely raised his glass. Saracen looked around the group, remembering those who weren't there. Larrikin, who was sometimes jumpy but always up for a laugh, and Hopeless, quieter than the rest but staunchly loyal to all of them. Every one of the Dead Men missed them, but the way to commemorate them was to have the best life they possibly could, and Saracen intended to do just that. The best life, currently, was in this ball room, with his closest friends and an abundance of good food and drink.

"I hope they play a quadrille soon," Anton said, glancing towards the dance floor. "It's one of the rare dances I'm confident about."

"A quadrille? My dear Anton," Saracen snorted, "really? You need to get with the times."

"Oh, here we go," said Dexter.

"Listen to me, I've spent the last couple of years in America, and you would not believe the kind of things they get up to on their dance floors," said Saracen. "The lindy hop! The jitterbug! Something they're calling the boogie woogie—"

"How about you show us some of those moves, then, if they are as good as you say?" Erskine said, smiling around his pipe. "I'll bite the bullet, go on." He offered Saracen his hand, eliciting a delighted chuckle from Dexter. Just then, the orchestra changed songs. It was a quadrille, and Saracen laughed.

"Sorry, Erskine," he said. "Maybe later."

"I'll hold you to that," Erskine said, as Anton excused himself to join the dance. "Hey, do you three want to see a party trick?"

"Ah, go on, then," said Ghastly.

Erskine's mouth spread into a wide grin, before his lips closed around his pipe. He puffed on it, appearing to concentrate intensely, and then he blew out two perfect smoke rings towards Skulduggery's face. Saracen wasn't entirely sure what was happening for a moment, and then he saw that Erskine was manipulating the air with his other hand. The smoke rings glided smoothly into one of Skulduggery's eye sockets.

"That tickles," Skulduggery said, and the smoke rings came out of his other eye socket, one right after the other, and dispersed in the air. 

Ghastly chuckled, and Dexter, who had taken a sip of his drink, was trying not to spit it out again from surprised laughter. Saracen clapped him on the back, laughing himself. 

"Good one, right?" Erskine said, beaming.

"I was certainly amused," Skulduggery said, a smile in his voice. "You're getting quite good at it."

"You were only doing it to impress the girls," Dexter said, getting his breath back.

"Girls? What girls?" Erskine said, feigning innocence. He wasn't very good at it. 

Dexter nodded in the direction the punch bowl. There were two women standing there,engaged in animated conversation together. Saracen saw that they were glancing their way more often than was necessary, or even appropriate. He liked them already. And better yet, he thought he recognised one of them.

"Isn't that Samia Ircold?" he said. "We met her in Jaipur, didn't we, during the trouble with the rogue djinn?"

"Ooh, did she ever fancy _you!_ " Dexter said to Ghastly.

"What? Me? Nonsense," said Ghastly. "We had a very professional relationship." By the punch bowl, Samia gave him a little wink and a wave.

"Tonight's a perfect opportunity to get more personal," suggested Saracen. 

"How else is Erskine ever going to talk to her friend?" Skulduggery said. "You know how terrible he is around women."

"It's true," said Erskine happily, already hooking an arm around Ghastly's and steering him towards the punch bowl. "All my words get tangled up and I just freeze. You have to save me, Ghastly. Save me from myself."

Ghastly rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "All right, all right."

"Fantastic," said Erskine. "Saracen, Dexter. Skulduggery. We'll see you soon."

"Don't hurry back on our account," Skulduggery said to their already retreating backs. 

It wasn't just the Dead Men who were pairing off and heading their own way. Every party, including the Requiem Ball, came to that point of the night when people broke off into smaller and smaller groups and withdrew from the centre of the room to the side, for quiet conversation, maybe a smoke or two, and always more drinks. The crowd had begun to thin out as guests wandered into other parts of the mansion to explore, stretch their legs, or simply take a break from the throng. The orchestra was still playing the quadrille, but Saracen didn't doubt that they read the room well, and would switch to something more sedate as soon as the dance was done.

Saracen regarded his almost empty champagne flute, and then scanned the room in search of a waiter with fresh drinks. As luck would have it, all the waiters in sight had trays full of empty glasses and discarded champagne flutes and were heading off to a place where all waiters went when such a tragedy occurred. It was a place where Saracen desperately wanted to be. That's where all the alcohol was, and probably some of those stuffed olives they put in the martinis. He finished his drink, toying briefly with the champagne flute, wondering what the best strategy for procuring more alcohol and entertainment was.

"Do you reckon they stand a chance, Saracen?" Dexter asked, briefly indicating towards the punch bowl, where Erskine and Ghastly had joined Samia and her friend, and seemed to be in the middle of another toast already. It didn't take people much to toast the Dead Men these days; it was just another one of those perks of being dubbed war heroes. "What does your power tell you?"

"That's not how my power works," said Saracen.

"How _does_ it work, then?"

"That's for me to know and for you to die wondering," Saracen said sweetly. 

"Do you hear this, Skulduggery?" Dexter said. "Do you see what I have to put up with?"

"Oh, no," Skulduggery said.

"No?"

"No, I've been around this particular conversation too many times to get involved with it again," Skulduggery said. He cocked his head. "Hang on, I think… someone's calling me. From over there." He stood up, looking past an incredulous Dexter. "Yes. I'd love to stay, but…" He trailed off. "Well, I'll see you later, gentleman," Skulduggery said, and moved past them, meandering expertly between the dancers of the quadrille and vanishing to the other side of the dance floor. 

Saracen was trying not to laugh at how offended Dexter looked, but it was proving extremely hard to keep the grin off his face. Dexter noticed it and shook his head. "Unbelievable," he said. "I haven't seen you in years, and instead of saying: _Hey, Dexter, how nice to see you! Loving the beard, very swish! By the way, this is my power!_ , you start with this again."

"That's a beard, is it? I've been wondering about that," Saracen said, still grinning.

Dexter rubbed at his jaw. The beard in question was at a very good point between a five o'clock shadow and full thermal isolation – not too little, not too much. It gave his face the kind of definition that was just the right amount of rugged and manly, but Saracen would much rather mercilessly mock his friend than admit it. 

"I think it looks very good," said Dexter. "I've received a lot of compliments about it." 

"From a distance, I'd imagine," said Saracen. "And from poor innocents who've never been on the receiving end of beard burn."

"China Sorrows said it looked very suave."

"Her exact words, were they?"

"Yes, while we were dancing. Did you notice how I danced with the most beautiful woman in Ireland, just then?"

Saracen put a comforting hand on Dexter's shoulder. "And I'm sure she was _very_ honoured," he said, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. The orchestra ended the quadrille to polite applause from the dancers, and just as Saracen had thought, switched to a much more sedate, dreamy composition that reflected the mood of the room, but did nothing for Saracen. 

"Well, the mood's plummeted," said Dexter. He took the cocktail stick from his martini glass and ate the olive on it, washing it down with the last of the drink. "Listen, how about we wander round a bit? I've never seen Deuce's mansion in its full glory before. Most things were covered with sheets when I was here last."

"I could definitely use a change of scenery," said Saracen. He thought that a little walk would definitely do him good. As much as he wanted to sit down again, the second that happened he would realise how drunk he actually was, and then the dizziness and the tiredness would come. He was very happy to carry on as he was, feeling nothing more than pleasantly tipsy, his brain slightly fuzzy, his chest full of that warm, tingly feeling he got after imbibing the right amount of alcohol.

The ball room led to a tall, wide hallway, which in turn led to a sweeping staircase towards the upper floors. When Saracen had arrived to the mansion, at a much earlier and more sober point in the evening, one of the waiting staff hired for the occasion had stood at the foot of the staircase to welcome the guests and politely let them know that they should restrict their revelry to the ground floor. Currently, however, there was nobody there. Instead, a piece of string had been hung above the stairs, and there was a piece of paper hanging from it.

Dexter approached the bottom of the staircase, angling the paper towards him. " _Please stay downstairs,_ " he read. He looked at Saracen. Saracen raised his eyebrows at him. Dexter checked behind his shoulder to make sure nobody was looking their way, and then lifted the string, ducked under it and took the stairs two at a time. Saracen hurried after him, grabbing onto the handrail because he didn't trust his feet not to betray him on the marble stairs.

When they reached the top and turned the corner into a quiet, wood-panelled corridor, Dexter was laughing and Saracen was out of breath. He leaned against the wall next to a painting of a plump naked woman looking sheepishly at nothing in particular, and took loud, heavy breaths.

"A bit out of shape, aren't you?" said Dexter, amused.

Saracen raised a forefinger and shook it in front of Dexter's face, his breathing calming down. "No," he said. "No, just… That was a lot of stairs. I didn't think there would be that many stairs."

"You're a terrible liar," said Dexter, and before Saracen could deliver the biting remark he'd already prepared, Dexter stepped closer and kissed him.

Saracen had been kissed by Dexter many times before. After all, it was the twentieth century, and Saracen was over three hundred years old. Things like heterosexuality had long ceased to hold his interest. But this time, it was different.

The first thing Saracen noticed was Dexter's beard and how it scratched at his own clean-shaven face – not in an unpleasant way at all. Saracen had usually been the one to initiate it when they kissed, but now he really felt what it was like to _be_ kissed by Dexter Vex. One of Dexter's hands was cupping Saracen's head, thumb smoothing across his cheek, and the other was on Saracen's shoulder, holding him in place and pressing him against the wall. Dexter kissed with single-minded purpose, tongue pushing against Saracen's, breath hot and eager. The kiss itself was over far too quickly for Saracen's liking. Dexter pulled away to let Saracen get at least a bit of his breath back, catching Saracen's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging on it in a way that made Saracen's breath catch for entirely different reasons.

Saracen didn't let him get too far. He grabbed the nape of Dexter's neck, pulling him in closer until their foreheads bumped against each other and Dexter's breath was on his lips. Dexter pressed a kiss to his mouth, and Saracen felt him smile.

"I've wanted to do that all night," said Dexter. 

"Is that what you were planning?" asked Saracen. "To get me alone?" He grinned, tilting his face upwards and pulling Dexter down for another, deeper kiss. He tasted gin on Dexter's tongue.

"A little bit," said Dexter when they broke apart again. It didn't fail to escape Saracen's notice that he was beginning to sound a bit breathless. His hand closed around Dexter's loosened bowtie. He pulled it from Dexter's neck and slipped it into his pocket. "To be honest, I thought you'd try something with Róisín." Dexter unbuttoned a few more buttons on his shirt, and Saracen started kissing down the line of his throat. "You—" Dexter's breath caught as Saracen's teeth closed on skin and sucked. "You have a thing for blondes."

Saracen hummed in agreement against Dexter's throat. "I like blondes."

Dexter laughed right against his ear, his fingers working on loosening Saracen's bowtie. "You also like brunettes," he said.

"Well—"

"And redheads. You like people," said Dexter.

"I'm a people person," Saracen agreed, licking a stripe up Dexter's neck, pulling at an earlobe with his teeth. Dexter had changed his cologne since they last did this. It was a distinct improvement. 

Dexter let Saracen's bowtie hang loose and kissed him again, hands on his hips to hold Saracen closer. His legs parted, and Saracen pressed a thigh up against Dexter's crotch. "You're pretty liberal with your affections," said Dexter, pushing his hips down, his lips wandering from Saracen's mouth to his throat.

"It would be a crime not to be," said Saracen, turning his head to the side to give Dexter's lips better access. Dexter's beard tickled him as he moved to drag his teeth along Saracen's collarbone. It was definitely a feeling Saracen could get used to."I mean, have you seen me?"

"I'm looking at you right now," said Dexter, stepping back a bit to look at Saracen. His eyes lingered on Saracen's lips. 

"And?" asked Saracen, wetting his lips. 

Dexter's fingers pressed into the flesh of Saracen's hips. "You've put on a bit of weight, haven't you?"

"I didn't want you to feel intimidated by my body," Saracen said, unbuttoning Dexter's waistcoat. "I'm considerate like that."

Dexter chuckled and kissed him again, practically laughing into his mouth. He unbuttoned Saracen's waistcoat, doing it much faster than Saracen had done his. "Fuck," he said, pulling the zip of Saracen's trousers down, "I missed this."

"Yeah," agreed Saracen. He ran his hand down Dexter's stomach, feeling the muscles even through his shirt, and grabbed the front of his trousers, squeezing his cock through the fabric. Dexter gasped, bringing his hips down into the pressure. "Missed you. How long has it been?" Saracen knew exactly how long it had been, but he wanted to hear Dexter say it.

"Eight years," said Dexter. "We were in Delhi."

"Yeah?" Saracen stilled his hand on Dexter's cock, waiting.

"We stayed in that hotel for days after we finished the mission," said Dexter. He'd unbuttoned Saracen's braces, and his hand was already in his trousers. Saracen closed his mouth when Dexter's fingers skimmed against his cock, not wanting a moan to escape and betray him. Dexter would have to try harder for that to happen.

"I've never seen you so exhausted," said Saracen. His fingers went back to the buttons of Dexter's shirt, working on unbuttoning them all.

"That happens when I'm with you," Dexter admitted. 

"Tell me about Delhi," said Saracen.

"I—" Dexter sucked in a breath as Saracen's fingers found one of his nipples and squeezed it mercilessly. He swallowed spit, Adam's apple prominent in his throat. Saracen gave it a brief kiss."It was 45 degrees out," said Dexter. "I remember the way the sweat looked on your skin. You fucked my mouth open on that bed."

Saracen traced the scars on Dexter's chest with the tips of his fingers. "It was the only way to make you shut up," he said gently. "I didn't want to get noise complaints from the manager." He smiled against Dexter's throat. "Although I do love it when you're loud," he whispered, his hand on Dexter's cock again. It was already straining against his trousers. "You have to be quiet now," he warned, brushing his knuckles against the head of Dexter's cock. He kissed the corner of Dexter's mouth, revelling in how quickly he was breathing. "You don't want us to be interrupted, do you Dexter?"

"No," said Dexter.

"Good boy," said Saracen. Dexter liked being told that – Saracen felt him shiver. He started unbuttoning the braces on Dexter's trousers, quietly annoyed by how unnecessarily fiddly it was to get someone out of white tie trousers. "You said you've wanted this all night," he said once he'd got the buttons undone. He grabbed Dexter's arse with both hands, pushing their hips together. Dexter's clothed erection rubbed against his own, and damn, had Saracen ever missed _this._ "What do you want?"

Dexter laughed breathlessly. "A lot of things," he said. Saracen grinned. "That you don't let another eight years pass before doing—" He pressed himself down against Saracen, hissing as their cocks rubbed together. "—this again."

"I won't," said Saracen. He buried his fingers into Dexter's blonde hair, pulling him into a kiss, biting at his lips when they separated again. "I won't," he said again, his breath mingling with Dexter's. They were both panting at this point, their mouths open, their lips brushing against each other when they got too close.

"I want," Dexter began, swallowing thickly. He tried again. "I want to touch your cock." Good on his word, he put his hand in Saracen's trousers again, cupping him and squeezing. "I want to wank you off."

"Yeah, okay," said Saracen, angling his hips into Dexter's touch. It was all the encouragement Dexter needed. He unbuttoned Saracen's boxers and reached in, taking his cock out. Saracen leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall. Briefly, Dexter's hand left his cock and he heard Dexter spit, and then it was back. Dexter ducked his face down, nosing Saracen's shirt open, and then his mouth was on Saracen's chest, kissing, gently sucking at his skin. His beard tickled, and Saracen shifted forward, pushing himself into Dexter's touch. "If you give me beard burn, Dexter, I swear on my life," he threatened.

"I'll be careful," Dexter assured him. He pulled back the foreskin and rubbed his thumb over the tip of Saracen's cock, once, twice, and again until it twitched in his hand. Saracen jerked his hips forward, a small moan escaping him. Dexter captured it with his mouth. Their naked chests pressed together. Dexter was warm and solid above him, and Saracen let himself be kissed, opened himself up completely to him. Dexter's hand wrapped around the base of Saracen's dick and stroked up, slowly, carefully.

Saracen broke their kiss, nipping at Dexter's bottom lip, which had already become red and swollen from kissing. "Do it faster," he said. Dexter's breath was hot against his face, but he said nothing, just angled his wrist the way Saracen liked it. Saracen thrust up into his hand, his fingers buried in Dexter's hair, tugging at it just enough to make Dexter's breathing ragged.

Dexter wouldn't moan. He wouldn't make a sound, because Saracen had told him to be quiet, and Dexter was very obedient when it came to things like that. It had been an experience, finding that out about Dexter – how submissive he was in bed, how well he responded to praise, how well he took to receiving orders. It awed Saracen to know that this powerful man would get on his knees for him, and had done so numerous times, without reluctance, with complete and utter enthusiasm.

Saracen buried his face into the crook of Dexter's neck, inhaling that new cologne. He licked at Dexter's collarbone, and then caught the skin between his teeth, sucking on it hard, hard enough to have Dexter make a noise deep in his throat. 

"Fuck—" Dexter breathed, splaying his free hand on the wall next to Saracen to hold himself up. His grip on Saracen's cock tightened, and he was stroking it more urgently now.

Saracen felt the pressure building up, felt how slick Dexter's strokes were becoming thanks to his precome. He grabbed Dexter's wrist, making him slow his hand. "I'll come," he warned. "I'm so close, Dexter."

Dexter nodded. The colour was high in his cheeks. His lips were swollen and red and parted. "I want it in my mouth," he said. 

Saracen felt his knees turn to water. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Dexter.

"Come here," said Saracen, cupping Dexter's face with both hands. He kissed him deeply, sloppily, and Dexter kissed back, almost falling into him. When they broke the kiss, Saracen put a hand on Dexter's shoulder, applying the slightest bit of pressure to it. "Get on your knees for me." It didn't need to be said, but Saracen knew that Dexter appreciated it.

Dexter pulled his trousers up so they wouldn't crease, a gesture Saracen found equal parts endearing and ridiculous. He kneeled on the floor in front of Saracen, and placed a hand on Saracen's hip, wrapping the other around the base of his cock. "Don't move," he said, and took the head of Saracen's cock in his mouth.

It took all of Saracen's willpower not to move when Dexter started sucking. His arm was by his side and he balled it into a fist, worrying his lips between his teeth. Dexter took him in deeper, squeezing the base, and then pulled away again, licking the underside. Saracen reached down to stroke his hair, guiding him gently back to the head. Dexter moved where he was bid, running his tongue along the slit before sucking down Saracen's cock again.

The sight of it – Dexter, on his knees, shirt undone, trousers unzipped, one hand on Saracen's hip, the other digging into his own thigh, eyes closed, lips wrapped around Saracen's cock – was too much for Saracen to hold on any longer. He arched up against the wall, gasping, and came down Dexter's throat. 

Dexter took it all, swallowed it all down and licked at the slit once again before pulling away entirely. He got to his feet, and as Saracen let the aftershocks of his orgasm wash over him, Dexter took his face in his hands and kissed his lips, kissed the corner of his mouth, the tip of his chin. 

"You're gorgeous," said Dexter, kissing the curve of Saracen's jaw. "Look at you, you're gorgeous."

"Not as gorgeous as you are with my cock down your throat," said Saracen, smiling lazily. His cheeks were burning hot, and his hair had been mussed almost beyond repair. He tucked himself away into his underwear, and Dexter kept kissing him. He peppered kisses down Saracen's throat, along the curve of his shoulder. Saracen felt him pressing up against his leg, and felt Dexter's erection pushing into his thigh. He brought a hand down to Dexter's arse, pulling him closer, and pushed his thigh up to grind it against Dexter's crotch. "Let me take care of that," he said.

Saracen unbuttoned Dexter's underwear, letting his cock spring free. It was so hard, so dark towards the head that Saracen doubted Dexter would last long at all. He ran the tips of his fingers along its length, base to tip, and it twitched under his touch. Dexter's warm breath splashed against Saracen's throat in a desperate exhale. 

"Saracen," said Dexter.

"Yes?"

Dexter hand covered Saracen's, and he wrapped both of them around his cock. "Like that," he said, guiding Saracen's strokes. Saracen started a slow rhythm, rubbing the sensitive skin of the head of Dexter's cock before every downward stroke, squeezing it when reaching the base. Dexter panted against him, beard scratching at the side of Saracen's face. Saracen didn't even need spit – precome leaked from the tip of Dexter's cock liberally now, and he smeared it down his length with the tip of his thumb.

"Are you going to come for me?" Saracen asked. He brushed his fingers against Dexter's balls, fondling them gently, and felt Dexter buck his hips up. He didn't stop him. Feeling how hot and heavy Dexter's cock was, Saracen wrapped his hand around it and let Dexter thrust into the curve of his fingers.

"Fuck—Saracen—" Dexter tried, but before he could finish Saracen was kissing him, swallowing the deep moan on his tongue, and Dexter came in hot pulses on both their hands. Saracen was still kissing him, chasing the taste of himself in Dexter's mouth. Dexter shivered against him, mouth slack, letting himself be kissed. 

Saracen broke the kiss and brought his wet hand to his mouth. The come was running down from his palm to his wrist, but he caught it with his tongue before it reached his suit. He ran his tongue along the grooves of his palm, licking it clean, swallowing Dexter's come. His eyes never left Dexter's. 

Dexter groaned. "You are such a bastard," he said. Saracen smiled around one of his fingers, pulling it out of his mouth with a slick sound. He took Dexter's wrist and started licking the come off his hand, tongue flicking across his palm, sucking at his fingers one by one until he could taste nothing but Dexter's skin. " _Such_ a bastard," repeated Dexter. "I'm going to be thinking about this for the rest of the night."

"Only for that long?" asked Saracen, flicking his tongue against the tip of one of Dexter's fingers, as a final parting. "I obviously didn't try hard enough."

Dexter pulled his now clean, albeit slightly moist, hand away from him and put himself back in his underwear, buttoning everything up. "You'll do better next time," he said.

"Next time?" Saracen asked. He could hear faint music coming from downstairs still. It seemed to have picked up. He worked on rebuttoning his shirt, his braces and his waistcoat, smoothing them all down. Nobody would be the wiser. "Is that a promise?" 

"Do you want it in writing?"

Saracen laughed. "I'll think about it," he said, fixing his bowtie. He smoothed his hair down. "Ready to get back to the party?"

Dexter appeared to consider this while straightening his waistcoat. "Must we? I mean, we could easily take my car and go somewhere else," he said.

"Without saying goodbye? Ghastly will get a stress ulcer, you know how he gets," said Saracen. He offered the crook of his arm to Dexter. "Shall we?"

They went down the stairs arm in arm, ducked under the _please stay downstairs_ string, and re-entered the ball room. The mood had considerably perked up since they had left. The orchestra was playing an upbeat swing number – and yet, nobody was dancing. All the sorcerers were standing together in the centre of the room, chatting animatedly to each other. Saracen sought out Skulduggery, and found him standing with Anton slightly to the side of the main group.

"What's going on here?" asked Dexter once they had rejoined them.

"Where have you two been?" asked Anton, in a good mood. "You've missed out on the fun."

"Just poking around," said Dexter, shrugging. "What fun is this?" he asked, turning to Skulduggery.

"Erskine has been talking to Grand Mage Tangiora," Skulduggery said. The Grand Mage of New Zealand was easy to pick out among the crowd. Tall and dignified with elegant, elaborate tā moko on her chin, she was standing talking to Cameron Light, the Teleporter, and yes, Saracen now saw, Erskine Ravel was with them too, looking immensely pleased with himself. Ghastly hung back, but he was smiling too. 

"I talked to Grand Mage Tangiora too," said Saracen. "She asked me if I'd ever seen Wellington in the rain."

"Have you?" asked Skulduggery.

"I said I'd never seen Wellington _out_ of the rain." Saracen frowned. "She laughed, but it wasn't very sincere."

Across the room, Ghastly noticed them, waved and walked over to join them. "It's starting soon," he said. "Oh, welcome back, Dexter, Saracen. Dexter, where's your bowtie gone?"

"What's starting?" Saracen asked, in the same moment that Dexter said, "My what?" Saracen clicked his tongue, taking Dexter's bowtie out of his pocket and handing it to him. Dexter shot Saracen an annoyed look, and started retying it.

"You'll see," Skulduggery said. "Ah, there is Erskine now."

Erskine Ravel walked to them, smiling from ear to ear. He clapped a hand on Saracen's shoulder. "There you two are," he said. "I've been wondering where you got to. Listen, he's going to do it now, so I'm afraid there isn't any time to grab more drinks."

"Oh, that won't be a problem, I think," Skulduggery said. He raised a hand, urging them to wait. "Won't be a minute." He turned away from them, unbuttoned his tuxedo and seemed to remove something from it. When he buttoned him up and turned to face them again, he was holding a corked bottle of champagne in his hand. "There we—" he started, and then the world around them changed.

"—go," Skulduggery finished. He looked around them. "Teleporting a whole ball room of people without any direct contact with them. That _is_ impressive," he announced to the sky.

And there _was_ a sky. Saracen blinked in the sunshine. His expensive shoes were sinking into the sand, and to his right he could hear waves. He turned around, and saw them lapping against the beach on which they now stood. 

" _Nau mai, haere mai ki Aotearoa!_ " Grand Mage Tangiora's clear voice rang out. "Welcome to New Zealand, my friends! Our hosts have graciously agreed that the last hour of the Requiem Ball be spent in my beautiful country. Please, friends, have fun and celebrate!" Applause followed her words.

"Erskine," said Saracen, amused, "what did you do?"

Erskine had already taken his shoes off and was now working on removing his socks, holding onto Ghastly with one hand for support. "Well, I was chatting with Aroha – Grand Mage Tangiora – and she was saying how lovely New Zealand was at this time of year," he said, peeling off a sock. "Cameron Light was standing nearby, and he agreed, so I suggested we went for a little trip." He smiled. "Eachan and Deuce hardly needed to be persuaded at all."

Saracen laughed. "You never stop amazing me," he said. 

"Don't give him too much credit," said Ghastly. "They were practically falling over drunk at that point. They would have agreed that the sky was green if he'd sounded convincing enough."

Anton shrugged his tuxedo off, turning his face towards the sun. His eyes were closed and he was smiling. "I'm not complaining," he said. 

"Shall we drink to that?" asked Skulduggery, proffering the champagne bottle. 

"You kept that in your ribcage?" asked Dexter.

Skulduggery cocked his head. "It's nature's pocket."

"Open the champagne, Dexter," said Saracen. He decided to follow Erskine's lead and take his shoes off. In his opinion, sand was meant to be walked on barefoot. 

"Don't suppose you have any glasses in there?" asked Dexter, already peeling the foil off the cork.

"Sorry."

The champagne cork popped loudly, sailing through the air and over the heads of the other guests. The Dead Men sat on the beach, their bare feet in the sand, their tuxedos off, passing the champagne bottle between themselves. Saracen Rue looked out towards the ocean, lying back on his elbows, and for the first time in a long while, felt utterly content.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk Skulduggery Pleasant, I tweet about it ceaselessly over at [@erskine_ravel](http://twitter.com/erskine_ravel). My tumblr is [here](http://erskineravelvevo.tumblr.com).


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